Harry Potter and the Currency of Magic
by scienceofslow
Summary: "Not a bad mind," said the Sorting Hat. What if Harry used this brain? What if Sirius and Remus guided Harry toward fulfilling his Marauder destiny? What if 5th year Harry had a dream that changed everything?
1. Chapter 1: Somewhere in Surrey

AUTHOR'S RANT:

JKR created a dystopia by painting the background according to "the rule of funny" without regard to consequences. I'm reinterpreting the Wizarding World through the lens of middle-aged cynicism to explore "why are things the way they are?"

When you let Sirius - damaged by Azkaban - and Remus – an outcast due to his lycanthropy – teach Harry the things he needs to know, you get a very different story to canon. That's what I'm trying to explore here: "Harry gets strong male role models". (Actually, since I'm a first time author, I don't really have aspirations beyond it being an excuse for me to info-dump my headcanon and write a Gary-Stu ...)

If Harry was brought up in an orphanage, he would be a sociopath, and many innocents would die.

If Harry was brought up by Dumbledore, he would be a sacrifice, and one innocent would die.

The Marauders will show Harry another way ...

This is not the story a Romantic would write.

This is the story a Cynic would write.

There will be bashing.

* * *

CHAPTER 1: Somewhere in Surrey ...

**AN: Set before the beginning of Harry's OWL year. (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)**

There's a subdivision in Surrey where the streets are all similar. Not identical, but the houses are all designed by the same architectural firm, all approved by the same town planners and all built by the same builders. All these houses end up occupied by people motivated by the same desires - a similar drive to impress each other through an endless cycle of one-upmanship via flaunting of material wealth: A flashy car in the driveway, a mantle full of photos taken on holidays abroad and a wardrobe full of clothes renewed every season with the latest fashions.

On one street there is one house where one window is different. In all of Little Whinging, there is only one room that has a window with bars on it. In that unique room there is a boy who was particularly unusual. He was different not only because of his distinctive green eyes and uniquely scarred forehead, this boy on the cusp of manhood was different to everybody else in Surrey because he was dreaming a different dream.

He was a wizard, and in his dream he dreamt how he could become a thumping good one.

It was the most amazing dream Harry Potter could remember. Even better than the one about a flying motorcycle. But when Harry woke, he knew he had been visited by a vision of unusual importance, and he knew that he had to _act_. He was compelled to capture this dream before it faded. He had to find that damned dream diary and write it all down. And quickly.

Because it all starts now.

When Harry woke, his eyes hadn't even been open for a second before he was leaping out of bed towards the trunk that stored all of his worldly possessions. He opened his trunk and started pulling out his school supplies willy-nilly, chucking them all on the floor. Only his most prized possessions got special treatment by placing them on the bed: his wand, a photo album and a cloak handed down the Potter line for generations. He put his sheaf of revision notes aside and eventually he found it, the dream diary from divination, a book filled with a litany of depressing snippets of how the boy-who-lived would die. Harry smiled to himself, he knew that this entry would be different.

Today's diary entry would serve to remind him how the boy-who-lived could take his place in the world as a _man_.

Because it all starts today.

This young man wrote in a frenzy at his rickety desk while the sun rose over Little Whinging.

Not once did Harry realise that tonight's dream was entirely different from his recurring nightmares of endless corridors, foreboding graveyards and senseless death.

His head spun, but the remembering felt good, the writing felt good. Life felt good.

Harry Potter had a _mission_.

And there is not a moment to lose.


	2. Chapter 2: The Dream - A Spectral Stag

CHAPTER 2: The Dream Sequence - A Spectral Stag

There was a magnificent stag waiting for Harry at the front door of a vaguely familiar white cottage.

"Are you worthy of the Potter Legacy?" asked the stag when Harry approached.

"I'm Harry Potter. I'm the boy-who-lived," said Harry.

"And I'm the guardian of the Potter Legacy. Your name and past deeds do not impress _me_," said the stag, "And I'm asking you _again_. Are you ready for the challenge that will determine your worthiness to stand among your honourable ancestors?" said the stag.

"I think so," said Harry.

"Well then boy, whenever you _think_ you're ready. The challenge awaits you through this door," said the stag, who transformed into a transparent white mist and disappeared through the door.

Harry opened the door and proceeded into the living room where Remus Lupin stood next to a Hogwarts trunk.

"Do you really want to take the challenge Harry?" asked Remus.

"Yes, Professor Lupin," said Harry.

"Please Harry, I'm no longer your Professor, you should just call me Remus," he said, walking away from the trunk and giving his wand a small flick that unlatched the brass catches. The trunk popped open to reveal a dementor in a cloak, the tall figure rising to its full height before Harry had a chance to react.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" cried Harry, and a shining silver stag erupted from his wand.

The dementor tried to back away, but tripped on the lip of the trunk.

Harry laughed, more with relief than humour, and cast a quick "_Ridiculus_!"

The spell had enough force to cause the boggart to collapse back into the trunk like an empty pile of robes. Harry cast another _Ridiculus_, and the trunk snapped shut, trapping the boggart inside.

The room stood still for a long moment before the patronus stag turned toward Harry and dipped its head, it then cantered towards Remus, giving a short bow before disappearing through another door.

"Well done Harry. Very well done," said Remus. "You have mastered your fears. You are truly your father's son. James would be very proud." He nodded to himself, "And as your teacher, I'm very proud."

"You are the best teacher I ever had," said Harry, basking in the praise of one of the few good male role models he had.

"The next challenge is through this door," said Remus, smiling as he indicated the door the stag had disappeared through. Harry walked over and opened the door.

The next room was a kitchen, dominated by a table in the center and a large upright mirror standing in the corner, covered by a sheet. Somehow, Harry just knew that it was the Mirror of Erised. Sirius Black was waiting next to the mirror, looking happier than Harry had ever seen him.

"The first part of your challenge is to look into the Mirror of Erised for five minutes," said Sirius without preamble.

"That's easy," said Harry.

Sirius laughed, "The second part of your challenge is to _stop_ looking into the Mirror of Erised after five minutes."

"Uh, that's not so easy," said Harry.

"That's why this is a challenge to test your worthiness," said Sirius, "Are you worthy to take your place alongside the men of the Potter line?"

"I think so," said Harry.

"I didn't ask if you _think_ you are worthy," said Sirius, "I asked if you _are_ worthy. Yes or no. Are you a man of the Potter line, or are you the boy-who-lived?"

"Yes," said Harry, "I'm the boy-who-lived, but I _know_ that I am ready for your challenge."

That seemed to be enough for Sirius, who then removed the sheet covering the Mirror of Erised.

Harry looked into the mirror, his gaze captured by his parents standing in the front row.

"I'll make you proud," murmured Harry.

He inspected the ranks of people standing behind his parents. His four grandparents. His eight great-grandparents in the row behind them, the sixteen great-great-grandparents behind them, passing back into the blur of history and unto the beginning of time. It disturbed him how few names he knew for the people of his clan. The Potter and Evans names were a given, and he was pretty sure there were some Blacks mixed in there somewhere too. But so many of them were just faces in the crowd.

"I'll make you _all_ proud," said Harry.

"It's time Harry," said Sirius, rousing Harry from his thoughts.

"You can cover it up," said Harry, "I'm ready for the next part of your challenge."

"Well done Harry. Very well done," said Sirius, covering the mirror. "You have mastered your desires. You are truly your father's son. James would be very proud. As your godfather, I'm very proud."

Sirius continued, "It was your grandfather who taught me some important life lessons. Here is a good one: most of the time I do what I want to do. But as a man, sometimes you have to do what you have to do," said Sirius. "You have taken an important step. Now tell me, what did you see?"

"I saw my family," said Harry simply.

"So how many kids do you have?" asked Sirius eagerly, "More importantly, who is the lucky Mrs Potter?"

"Not that sort of family. I saw Mum and Dad. All my ancestors, none of my descendants," said Harry, looking down at his feet.

"Was I there too? Does your favourite godparent rate a mention?" asked Sirius.

"You weren't in it, but you're here now. That's why I didn't mind you covering up the mirror," said Harry thoughtfully. "They're the family that I had, but you're the family that I've got. I'll make them proud eventually. But today, I'll do my best to make you proud now."

"Good job, but of course there's more to this challenge. There's homework," said Sirius with an easy smile. "Write down what you have learned from today's challenges. Write down what you want out of life. Write it all down. What you want to do. What you have to do. All of it. You will find that unfiltered writing helps you to organise your mind, you can use it to clear your thoughts of extra clutter, to make connections that you wouldn't otherwise see. Don't worry about quality, you can come back to it later for any editing. Just get it all down on the parchment and see what you can see. Start now."

In his dream Harry wrote in a frenzy. He wrote about how the boggart represents what he wants to move away from. He wrote about his fears and how Remus guided him to learn advanced magic and to confront the things that made him uncomfortable. He wrote about how the Mirror of Erised represents what he wants to move towards. He wrote about school. He wrote about his desire for recognition based on his own achievement and his secret desire to have a real family of his own. He wrote, and he wrote and he wrote.

While he wrote he felt his mind clearing. For the first time in ages, Harry felt really good, as if he was somehow more _complete_ than he had ever been before.

"Are you ready for the next part of the challenge? There's both a task and a choice. The challenge is to edit everything you have written into some sort of plan for the future," said Sirius. "The choice is between 'wit sharpening potion' and 'potion of good luck'. Which potion will help you to create a better plan? It's your choice."

"I think perhaps the wit-sharpening potion would be more useful, I'm not sure about having to rely on luck for something like this," said Harry.

"I didn't ask you which potion you _think_ will be more useful. I asked which will help more," said Sirius.

"Give me the wit-sharpening potion," said Harry.

"Good choice," said Sirius, handing over a small bottle of potion.

Harry drank the wit-sharpening potion, and as with all potions that Harry had experienced, it tasted absolutely foul.

"Sorry I'm late," said Hermione Granger, as she emerged from behind the Mirror of Erised. "Thanks for inviting me. Hi Sirius, it's good to see you again. You're looking well."

"I can't really talk now Hermione," said Harry. "I've just taken a wit-sharpening potion and I need to get on with editing this essay before the potion wears off. I have to turn all this," he pointed at the essay, "into a plan."

Hermione gave him a contemptuous glare, "If you've gone to the trouble of taking an expensive wit-sharpening potion then you should be using its insight to do something that nobody else can do. Anybody can correct an essay, and that is one of the things that I'm already _very good_ at. You should give that essay to me, so that I can turn it into a schedule. Meanwhile, you should spend the time wisely by writing another essay about something that you are an expert on, something that only you can do. Like maybe an essay about 'Seven Superior Seeker Strategies' or 'The Single Super-Secret Snitch Strategy'," said Hermione.

"Everybody knows that the snitch is random, it doesn't have a strategy," said Harry. "That's not really a secret."

"And yet somehow there are seekers like Victor Krum and … I don't know ... _Harry Potter_ who get the snitch so often that they make everybody else look like dunderheads," said Hermione caustically. "_Of course_ there is a super-secret snitch strategy, and you know it, and I know that you know it. It's just that _you_ don't know that you know it. And when you actually use that brain of yours you will _write it down_, and only then you will _know_ that you knew it all along. But it will be very important that you don't let anybody else know that you know it, because then the obliviators will come and _wipe your memories_ to ensure that the snitch's secret stays _super-secret_."

"Or I could just ask you, because you seem to already know," said Harry.

"Here's everything I know about quidditch, Harry: the snitch is the little gold one with wings. It's hard to find, and because it's worth 150 points it makes the rest of the game basically irrelevant. There are also bludgers and a quaffle, they're different colours and do different stuff, and they are only there to let the other six members of the team feel like they are doing something useful," said Hermione. "Why don't you just write down everything _you_ know about quidditch? I'm sure it will come to you eventually. Maybe ask yourself - 'If I was a snitch, where would I hide?' And from that you can deduce where is the optimum place for a seeker to seek. I'll be over here working on your schedule."

Even without the wit-sharpening potion, Harry knew it was usually a good idea to listen to Hermione, even when she was being a bit snippy.

Harry wrote down everything he knew about quidditch.

He wrote about his first match where he didn't yet feel confident when flying one-handed, and ended up catching the snitch in his mouth. He wrote how every other quidditch game ends with the seeker having one hand on the broom and the other on the snitch. He wrote about the importance of single handed flying and the boosts it gives to confidence when you can do it well.

He wrote about inexperienced seekers playing 'follow the leader' and hoping for the best. He wrote about following being a sign of submissiveness that rarely enabled the follower to pull in front and catch the snitch. He wrote about games where _both_ seekers followed each other and how this kind of gross incompetence causes a game to go on forever, and also causes spectators to get bored out of their minds.

He wrote about victory through speed. He praised his Firebolt and his old Nimbus 2000.

He wrote about victory through agility. He praised Wood's exacting training regime.

He wrote about victory through hard work. He praised Wood's brutal training regime.

He wrote about victory through deception. He praised his own good sense to get the snitch while avoiding Wood's exhortation to 'die trying'. Wood was a decent bloke, but there are some things that only deserve lip-service.

He wrote about victory through disruption. He noted how much fun it is to plough through the opposition's chaser formations.

He wrote about victory through guile. He noted how cool it would be to pull off feints that taunt the opposition seeker into ploughing _themselves_ into the pitch, like Krum did to that Irish guy at the World Cup.

He wrote about obtaining an unsatisfying victory through the opposition's incompetence. He scorned Malfoy.

He wrote about snatching an unlikely victory through luck. He missed Diggory.

He codified quidditch games into time phases, depending on what the seeker was doing.

He wrote about the _S__eek phase_, where the seeker hasn't yet seen the snitch. He outlined the 'search using sweeps' strategy that deals with locating the snitch despite its random hiding characteristics.

He wrote about the _Intercept phase_, where the seeker sees the snitch and manoeuvres into an advantageous position.

He wrote about the _Capture phase_, where the seeker suffers reduced broom manoeuvrability as a consequence of taking one hand off their broom, but gains the opportunity to capture the snitch with their free hand.

He wrote about the importance of concealing your intentions. He developed a theory of _Concealed __I__ntercept __C__apture_, where the seeker has seen the snitch and moves to 'Intercept' while still keeping up the pretence of not having seen the snitch at all. He posited that when done properly, the first sign that the opposition should get that you have seen the snitch is when they notice that your team has suddenly gained 150 points, and the game is already over.

He renamed this new strategy the _C__onjurer's Catch_ to disguise the philosophy behind the technique.

Harry smiled mischievously and his mind swam with quidditch lore.

He reminisced about all his successful snitch captures. Suddenly everything seemed to fall in to place.

"I've figured it out!" shouted Harry, "The bludgers are the snitch's boggart, the quaffle is the snitch's erised! The snitch just seems random because when the bludgers and the quaffle are going all over the place it makes the snitch act in ways that look complicated. But overall, the snitch is always moving _towards_ the quaffle, and _away_ from the bludgers. If a seeker does the same thing and avoids the bludgers, they reduce the area where they need to sweep-search. A snitch is never going to be near a bludger since snitches are always fleeing from them. It's like when magnets repel, the snitch would be zooming _away_ if the bludger ever got too close. Therefore you'd never capture the snitch near a bludger anyway, so don't bother wasting your time searching there!"

Harry paused to collect his thoughts. "Like the time I smashed Ravenclaw by catching the snitch super early. In that game, both teams' beaters walloped the bludgers to each end of the pitch to target the opposition keepers, while in the meantime everyone was contesting the quaffle around the middle, so surprise surprise … the I grabbed the snitch near the centre for a 150 vs 0 Griffindor win. Near the quaffle, far from the bludgers." A massive grin split his face and Harry shook his head as he tried to get his mind around the implications of the snitch _not_ being random. "This is fantastic! This completely changes seeker strategy … this completely changes beater strategy ... this completely changes chaser strategy ... this also makes keepers the most useless players on the pitch! This probably also explains why the Chudley Cannons are so completely shit!"

"Now write it down," said Hermione. "And well done Harry. Very well done. You have mastered quidditch. Your family would be proud. As your best friend, I'm very proud."

Harry was bursting with pride as he wrote about the snitch's strategy. The snitch's erratic path is a complicated looking result caused by the simple rule of moving towards the quaffle while also moving away from the bludgers. And because the beaters and chasers were always busy stirring up the bludgers and quaffle, the rule makes for an infinite variety in the snitch's path. This complexity is why everybody thought snitches were random. But they _weren't_ random, and _this_ was the super-secret snitch secret. The whole thing blew his mind on another level: the snitch wasn't just hiding it's location, the most important thing the snitch was hiding is its _philosophy of hiding_, and nobody even thought to look for this deeper truth because everybody believed that the snitch was random.

But it was like Hermione said: if you knew where the snitch is going to hide, then you know where the seeker should seek. So Harry wrote a _seeker_ strategy that would take into account the snitch's hiding characteristics while optimising the efficiency of the sweep-search pattern.

Harry then wrote an integrated theory of quidditch _captaincy_ explaining how each position can implement rational quaffle and bludger plays to maximise their team's chances of successfully capturing the all-important snitch. With high-level cooperation among chasers and beaters, the team could force the snitch's tempo and skew its territory to work in favour of their own seeker and at the expense of the opposition.

Harry wrote an integrated theory of _coaching_ that would target the practise of key skill areas for players in each position.

He wrote about teaching bludger control and beater-craft skills by getting the beaters to play tennis.

He wrote about teaching attack and defence formations; teaching how to create both space and passing opportunities; and teaching general team cooperation and chaser-craft skills by getting the chasers to play football against the keeper.

He wrote about improving hand-eye coordination and seeker-craft by learning how to juggle.

Harry wrote a strategy for improving his own _coaching skills_ by organising a training program that would teach the younger Griffindors more about flying and broom skills in general. This side project would have the added bonus of setting up Griffindor quidditch dominance for _years_ to come.

Harry wrote a strategy for concealing his new found snitch-craft knowledge by passing off his team's success as being caused by his other coaching initiatives. He would attribute Griffindor's dominance to their superior football, tennis and juggling training. For as long as he could, he would pretend to keep these sports a secret, while using them as part of his 'bodyguard of lies' around his real secret. Plus Harry had plenty of _other_ lies to provide plausible explanations for the team's performance:

"You'd absolutely be able to beat us if you had a better keeper … if you had better brooms … if you had more left-handers … if you wore form fitting robes ..."

"Your chasers need to pass more ... need to do more sloth-grip rolls … need to provide greater defensive pressure … need to wear form fitting robes …"

"Your keeper needs to master the starfish and stick … needs to be taller than 6 foot … needs to be able to do 50 chin-ups … needs to be able to make accurate passes to half-way up the pitch ..."

"It's a team effort … your chasers need to spend more time together … your beaters need to spend more time together … your keeper needs to get up at the crack of dawn to do a brutal exercise regime … your team needs to wear form fitting robes …"

"Our seeker is just lucky … just very lucky … just very very lucky ... and he wears lucky underpants ..."

"It's a team effort really."

Knowing the truth made it so easy to make up all sorts of plausible lies that would waste the opposition's valuable training time. If the other houses believed his misdirections they would be taunted into chasing phantoms and developing useless skills. In the mean time, Harry would be busy perfecting the _Conjurer's Catch_.

Harry devised a plot that would recruit all the muggleborn Griffindors to prank the pure-bloods by supporting his claim to have invented the sports of 'footchase' and 'beaterbat' as quidditch specific skill-drills. Apart from this being an amusing prank, he wanted to do this because there is no other way he could introduce _football_ and _tennis_ to Hogwarts against the anti-muggle prejudices of the quidditch faithful. He would do all this while pretending to believe that the snitch was random. Somehow, he would find other ways to shape the behaviours of the Griffindor beaters and chasers without telling anybody _anything_ about the true nature of snitches. Harry didn't want any loose-lipped wand-waving pure-blooded half-wit glory-hound to bring the obliviators down on them all.

There was no way in _hell_ he was telling Ron.

It boggled the mind. The snitch _wasn't random_! You could figure out where to search for the snitch just by observing the bludgers and the quaffle! And _nobody at Hogwarts knew_, otherwise _somebody_ would have been able to trounce him in their previous matches. Harry thought he was a good seeker because of his win record, but deep down he knew that much of his success was down to luck while searching for the snitch. Now that he knew the _super-secret snitch secret_ he didn't have to rely on luck at all! If Harry's intuition was correct, then _nobody else knew_, because if they did know, then the World Cup final would have played out differently. If Krum could predict the snitch then he would have been able to catch it before Ireland pulled away on goals, and if the Irish seeker knew then he wouldn't have fallen for Krum's spectacular feint. Likewise, if one of the other nations knew the snitch's secret, then - barring absolutely rotten luck - they would have made it to the final. Harry's mind boggled again, _nobody else knew the snitch's secret_! How could this be possible? How could a wizard still subject to the underage decree be able to discover a quidditch strategy that would practically hand him the Quidditch World Cup?

Harry mused about there being a secret conspiracy – a game played between quidditch coaches and the obliviators. A higher-level game where quidditch itself was being used as the quaffle by shadow forces. Every time a coach would discover the snitch's secret, their team would be able to use this knowledge to win games.

Ten points to the coach.

When the obliviators realised that somebody knew the super-secret snitch secret, they would undoubtedly sweep in and obliviate everybody involved.

Ten points to the obliviator.

The game of secrets could go on forever. It had probably been going on ever since Bowman Wright invented the first golden snitch and secretly recruited the obliviators as his enforcers to guard the patent. Harry thought that he could probably deduce the ebb and flow of the secret game by analysing the quidditch league tables and historic match outcomes for teams that burst into dominance before dropping back into mediocrity. Whatever this 'mind war' game was, it was probably played throughout the world like some bizarre "Obliviator's World Cup".

Harry wondered if there was an equivalent to the snitch in this secret game: something worth 150 points to the quaffle's ten. He decided that this was too weird to get his mind around, and instead wondered what to get Hermione for her birthday. She had been such a great help. Hermione deserved the best birthday present _ever_.

"Right Harry," said Hermione, "I've created a schedule for you. Here's a list of all the tasks I could identify from your essay. The index numbers point to other tasks which need to be done before you can attempt the new task. Now putting all this together onto a timeline," Hermione unrolled a long scroll of parchment, "We get this, ending up _here,_ where you have four kids, and starting all the way back _here_, where you finish re-reading your revision notes before going on to complete the last of your summer homework."

Harry admired the schedule. It looked like a lot of work, but he was feeling motivated, and his quidditch discoveries still had him on a high.

"Out of interest Harry, why four kids?" asked Hermione.

"When I was looking at the number of ancestors in my family tree, I chose four because of the maths of it. I want my parents to have four grand-children. To do that, someone has to make up for the fact that Lilly and James had to stop before giving me a sibling that would help me out with filling in the descendent tree. My parents should have had at least two little Potters to replace themselves, those two should have had at least two each, thus four grand-children to replace Lilly and James as grand-parents. I'm an only child so therefore I need to have four to do my bit for the Potter line."

"Thank you for explaining that to me Harry," said Hermione, "I know family is a difficult subject for you to talk about, so I'm glad that you feel comfortable discussing it with me."

"It should be me thanking _you_, Hermione. For everything, for helping me with this," said Harry, pointing to his quidditch essay. "For being smarter without wit-sharpening potion than I am with it. For doing the schedule." He paused for a moment, "For telling me that my next task is to re-read my revision notes."

Hermione's face lit up as she smiled her absolutely gorgeous smile.

"Remember what my homework planner says," said Hermione. "'Start today. There is not a moment to lose.' "

Somewhere in Surrey ... a spectral Doe smiled.

* * *

AN: IRL Hermione currently only makes schedules as "timetables" in her day-planner. Harry is dreaming up the nucleus of the concept of "Gantt Chart" and attributing the idea to "Dream Hermione". IRL Hermione will take to this concept with gusto, when she hears of it from Harry.


	3. CH3:Selection and Maintenance of the Aim

CHAPTER 3: Selection and Maintenance of the Aim

There was a Zen saying: "Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water."

Here in Surrey, things were similar and yet different from how they were in the exotic far east.

Before enlightenment: cook meals, weed garden.

After enlightenment: cook meals, weed garden.

Everywhere, it seems that drudge is eternal.

Here he was, Tri-wizard Champion and possibly the most famous young wizard in Britain, and Harry Potter was stuck being a muggle slave, pulling out weeds in a lawn that probably was unsalvageable due to the combination of poor soil condition and the hosepipe ban. The Dursleys would be better off to just rip the lot up and get a crate or two of dragon dung portkeyed in to recondition the soil, then plant some seeds from a couple of local grass species that were growing well, despite being left to their own devices. There were plenty of hardy grasses growing in the play park that never saw a drop of water aside from the rain, and those would be ideal for a low maintenance lawn. These things were obvious to Harry, and he wasn't even anywhere near as good at herbology as Neville.

The fact of the matter was that the Dursleys didn't give a shit about having a low maintenance garden, because they had a slave. As far as they were concerned, the more busywork there was to keep Harry occupied, the better. The chores he was given would most likely expand to fill the time he had available, so there wasn't much point in Harry finding ways to do things efficiently. Likewise there was no point taking pride in his labour because there was no reward for doing a quality job. The Dursleys had botched the job of getting him on board with their goals and, if the truth be told, their entire management philosophy was completely incompetent. Then again, Vernon Dursley was on the board of directors of a company that actually took pride in being the only UK manufacturer solely dedicated to making imperial drill bits, so managerial incompetence was probably par for the course.

Having to do busywork gave Harry time to think. Plenty of time. Wondering whether or not Grunnings would be able to limp along long enough to keep a roof over their heads until Harry graduated from Hogwarts was amusing. Wondering who would hold out against metric longer: Grunnings, the wizards or the Americans, was amusing. Wondering about grass species endemic to Little Whinging was amusing. Wondering about the Great Quidditch Conspiracy was amusing. Wondering why the Dursleys weren't putting him to work on adding real value to their property before Vernon's inevitable job-loss and the resulting foreclosure of Privet Drive was amusing.

Harry surmised that he didn't give a shit about the maintenance of the Dursley's lifestyle. In fact, if Privet Drive burned to the ground today, he'd rescue Hedwig by letting her fly, and only bother with carrying out his wand, his photo album and his invisibility cloak. Everything else was just stuff that he could replace. He'd go out and buy a wizarding tent and pitch it somewhere upwind of the chicken coop at The Burrow. He'd just have to suck it up and do his summer homework again, because moaning that your house burned down probably wouldn't be a good enough excuse for McGonagall.

Although his mind was free to wander during his menial chores, mostly Harry's mind was occupied with "The PLAN". These thoughts ended up being details of lots of tasks and he had trouble holding everything in his head all at once, so he wondered about simplifying away the details by devising "The Plan to Create The PLAN". Which made his thoughts "The plan to create the Plan that Creates the PLAN." Which _also_ got a bit confusing, but he was sure that it would all work out alright in the end, as long as he stuck with the general themes from his dream.

Really, Harry had _no idea_ what he was doing, but he supposed that if he wrote down all kinds of random stuff about magic and his dreams for the future then something would somehow sort of suggest itself eventually.

It would be just like the way he discovered the "super-secret snitch secret". And _o__h my goodness yes_, how _HOT_ Hermione looked when he told her that he would do the next task on his to-do list! But really, if he boiled it all down, the whole point of the exercise was to make the mother-of-all to-do lists so that he knew exactly what to do in order to become the best possible wizard he could be.

In short, having any kind of plan was all well and good, but he had to actually start doing the work eventually. This called for a _simple_ plan, and he called this plan "The 8-day plan".

It even ended up being simple enough to hold in his head.

For Day 1 to Day 7, each day he would write another seven pages of whatever comes into his head. On day 8 he would read pages 1 through 49, and on a separate sheet of paper, make a master list of all the "tasks" it suggests. Then he would pick the key ones to include in a one-page summary. On this summary page: "page 50" he would list the most important "milestone tasks". Then, for all the days after "Day 8" he could refer back to this list to determine what task he should be working on, although that might mean turning the master task list into a fancy schedule time-line parchment-roll-thingy like Hermione did in the dream. In the meantime, he could wing it and see what level of detail came out of the "8-day plan". Who knows what would emerge from his plan if he stuck with it for eight days straight and actually wrote stuff down instead of just mucking around in his own head.

It was a good plan. Action was always much better than running around in ever decreasing planning spirals until you ended up disappearing up your own arsehole.

For the next week, in addition to his usual Privet Drive Drudge, Harry got up at the crack of dawn and wrote about his vision for the future. Harry worked on filling up an A4 sized lecture book with his ideas and anything else that he could think of that would support the plan. The writing helped clear his mind and gave him more confidence in stepping up to tackle the future. The actual writing part took longer than expected, but this task was among the most fulfilling work he had ever done. It was a solid effort, but by the time he went downstairs for breakfast, Harry felt like he already had more to show for his day than at any other time on Privet Drive.

His own plan. His own life. His own destiny. He was going to be the best wizard he could be, and he knew he could achieve anything he set his mind to. Every morning, when he leapt out of bed, he was ready to write more about his musings on the wizarding world, and every day he became more confident of his place in it.

Because it all starts now.

By the eighth day, Harry knew he had come a long way, and he was eager to re-read what he had done and then hammer it all into a plan he could actually use.

Because it all starts today.

He made a list of the tasks as he read through, with each new task entry showing the day and page that the reference was from. Sometimes the raw material was only half-formed allusions - shapes of ideas rather than ideas in their own right - but he rounded them all out into concrete tasks that he included in the master task list. Any weird stuff could always be cut out later. The master task list ended up taking a good chunk out of a roll of parchment, but by then the general patterns were emerging. Harry roughed the key headings out on another sheet of paper before copying the list of "Milestone Tasks" to "page 50" of his first ever "8-day plan". It ended up taking up _three_ pages in the book, and they were just the highlights!

The task list showed him that he had a long way to go, but now Harry had a proper plan along with the determination to see it through. His first task was to write to Hermione, asking her about books that taught study skills, and he got stuck into that straight away. Harry figured that his best friend would also be interested in hearing about his new-found appreciation for to-do lists, even if he wasn't doing the schedule thing properly by making everything into a fancy time-line.

Harry Potter's mind was clear. His goal was clear. His destiny was waiting: he was going to be the best wizard that he could be, and _nothing_ was going to stop him.

And there is not a moment to lose.


	4. Chapter 4: Cooperation

CHAPTER 4: Cooperation

The next morning, while Harry was cooking breakfast for his Aunt, Harry had an idea.

"Aunt Petunia, can you tell me about your parents?" asked Harry.

It was always a risk, asking questions in the Dursley household, but Harry thought that Aunt Petunia's love of gossip would carry the day. She wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to tell stories about other people, and tales of the Evans clan would be far more interesting than this week's endless drivel about the new neighbours at number eight.

"My father Joseph Evans was the accountant for the biggest textile factory at Spinner's End," boasted Petunia, "That's up north, where I grew up with … ahem … where I grew up. Accounting was the family business, so to speak. My grandfather, Martin Evans, was an accountant too. My mother, Kathleen Evans nee Rose, was a skilled cook who also did a lot of charity work, often serving on church committees and raising funds for local worthy causes. My parents first met each other at a mutual friend's party and by all accounts it was love at first sight. They married before the year was out."

"So were they well off?" asked Harry, "The Evans? Being accountants and all that."

Accountants were respected professionals, in the wizarding world as much as the muggle. It was something worth considering - going into the family business of accountancy - even if it wasn't glamorous like being an Auror. Looking after other people's money probably paid as well as anything the ministry could offer. From what Harry knew, money stuff was a steady career that had the bonus that he could pursue it outside of the ministry, and gain valuable skills that were portable between the wizarding and muggle world.

Vernon stomped his ample bulk into the kitchen. "Don't ask questions, boy!" he thundered, "And where are my eggs?"

Harry turned back to the stove and rolled his eyes. "Coming Uncle Vernon," said Harry, forming a plan as he served Vernon's bacon and scrambled eggs. The local library was useless for any magical career stuff, but it would be able to tell him more about accountancy, and maybe there would even be books to give him a taste of some real life accounting. It would be a nice way to pay homage to his Evans ancestors, and learning the basics of their trade might even be fun. Maybe he could learn enough skills over summer to help the Weasley twins in their joke shop, while they did the inventing. In the meantime, Harry was happy to have learned some new names for his family tree.

Hedwig was off delivering his letter to Hermione in London, so his owl could be flying back anytime, depending on whether Hermione wanted to write a long letter or a full on epic epistle. Hopefully her reply would have some tips about what to look for at the library, so he would hold off on his trip there until Hedwig got back. In the mean time, he had others to write to.

Plus there was another day of drudge in the garden to look forward to as well. Harry had plenty to think about.

While he messed about in the garden, Harry invented a new game. He didn't want to think he was crazy, so he didn't call it "Imaginary Friends", but it all started when he mused about what he would talk about with Hermione, Ron and the rest the Hogwarts gang, if they were here. He called it "composing-letters-in-my-head-so-that-I-can-transcribe-them-when-I'm-inside-and-thus-make-best-use-of-my-valuable-time".

Unsurprisingly, in his head Hermione's letter was pretty long, even though it was the second in as many days. Ron's was pretty short. Neville's was in the middle. Dean's ended up being about the same as Neville's, although most of it was asking about football and sounding him out for a leading role in the "footchase" conspiracy and asking if he knew anyone in Griffindor who was similarly enthusiastic about tennis for "beaterbat". Harry was stumped about what to write to Seamus at all, because most of their conversations had been the Irish boy lurching between homophobic and homoerotic weirdness that Harry found off-putting in a way that he couldn't quite explain.

Parvati would get a nice long apology for the whole farce that was the Yule Ball, and he even had an idea on what he could do to make amends. Padma would get a note too: he'd ask Remus for a list of the books he recommends for 5th, 6th & 7th year Defence Against the Dark Arts, which he'd then pass on to the Ravenclaw. Lavender was another a tricky one. It would be good to ask her for advice about updating his wardrobe, because she seemed to know about that sort of thing, but he wondered if that transgressed some secret taboo in boy/girl relations that would see them joined at the hip on Hogsmeade weekends for the next three years. Hermione would be able to clue him in on that score, she'd save him from inadvertently getting a Lavender Limpet.

Harry had no clue which of the chasers would get the quidditch captain's badge, but he could write to them all to ask if anybody had a wireless and if the team could maybe listen to a quidditch broadcast every week as a sort of bonding exercise. He couldn't think of anything to say to the Weasley twins that didn't come across as nagging them about what they had done with the thousand galleons that he had given them, so he gave that up as a bad job. Likewise he couldn't think of much to talk to Ginny about, except to see if she was interested in trying out for quidditch this year. Between the summer homework and his tentative letter writing campaign, Harry thought that should be enough to squander his entire stock of parchment. Plus the whole front yard was now trimmed and completely weed free, so all in all, it had been a pretty good day.

When it came time to actually write the letters, Harry figured that he needed to write to Remus first ... so he could get information for Padma ... who would get her letter in the same delivery with Parvati. This convoluted scheme wasn't as complicated as the whole "plan" thing, but it was getting to be like the whole fancy time-line schedule caper all over again: the parchment roll thingy that Hermione did in the dream to wrangle the tasks into order. Harry realised that with too tight scheduling, his letter writing campaign risked flying Hedwig into the ground. But because he'd seen what the Weasleys did with their ancient owl Errol, Harry didn't want to be that kind of person. Especially not to Hedwig, his first real friend. Surely there were better ways to communicate between wizards than by owl, something like a phone, but maybe they just had a specialist squadron of "instant owls" like phoenixes or something …

"Dobby!" exclaimed Harry.

Dobby appeared with a pop, his ears poking out from under a pile of knitted hats. "Master Harry Potter sir calls Dobby!" squeaked Dobby gleefully.

"Dobby, great! I didn't expect you to come. Like, yeah, it's great you did, but I didn't expect it," said Harry with a beaming smile.

"Dobby is happy when Harry Potter sir calls," said Dobby, "Dobby is a free elf, not a lazy elf. Always Dobby comes!"

"I need your help Dobby. Can you use your elf magic to deliver letters instantly?" asked Harry.

Dobby's ears flopped as he shook his head sadly, "Dobby cannot deliver letters. Master Harry wants an owl for delivering. Is demarcation the delivery is."

"Oh, okay, I have an owl, I just didn't want to overwork her," said Harry. "I don't know what demarcation is though."

"Demarcation is rules for magical creatures staying friends!" said Dobby excitedly, "Owls deliver letters! Owls poo from great heights, owls do not _ever_ do any cleaning. For this, elves do not ever deliver letters and do _all the cleaning_!" He nodded vigorously, "Also elves squat to poo! Owls and elves this way stay friends!"

"So demarcation is an important thing. I wonder how come more magical creatures aren't friends," said Harry.

"Demarcation is _greatest_ thing!" exclaimed Dobby, "Harry Potter sir is greatest wizard, but demarcation is greatest thing! Demarcation is getting everyone fair shares of work!"

"So the important thing is that everybody gets a fair share of the work?" prompted Harry.

Dobby looked aside furtively, "Dobby is a bad elf, scabbing work from Hogwarts elves. But Dobby is taking wages _only_ so he can buy a Master! Wizards can make work with gold."

"Why can't elves use their own gold to make work?" asked Harry.

"Is demarcation is!" wailed Dobby, "Elves is _not allowed_ to make plans!"

"So who won't be your friends if the elves forget demarcation and make plans?" asked Harry.

Dobby shuddered. "The wizards! The wizards make the plans, the elves do the work! This the _Great Demarcation_ is!" exclaimed Dobby, "We is _never_ forgetting!" He stopped suddenly and gazed intently at Harry. "The Great Harry Potter does not know this?"

"No Dobby, my friend. I did not know this. Nobody told me about the friendship magic with the elves," said Harry.

"Harry Potter does not know the story of the Seven Founders of Hogwarts?" asked Dobby, blinking while his head and hats tilted comically.

"The story I heard was of the four founders of Hogwarts," said Harry. "Hermione already has something to say about the bias in _Hogwarts a History_ but to hear that they edited out three founders will surely rile her up."

"No, Harry Potter sir, Hogwarts is having four _Founding Employees_, witches and wizards getting wages from Seven Elves and the _Seed Capital_. The Seven Founders is elves. The elves of ..." Dobby paused reverently, "the _Board_."

"Wait, what? Hogwarts has a Board of Directors, and they're _elves_?" asked Harry.

Dobby nodded so vigorously that a couple of his hats came off, "Elves worked … to hire wizards … to make a plan … for making work …. for _elves_. The wizards' plan was _Hogwarts School_. Now elves has works of Hogwarts School for doing! The Board works is making work … for hundreds of elves … for hundreds of years!" said Dobby, bouncing with excitement.

Harry could feel his head exploding. He had thought that "a plan to make a Plan to make a PLAN" was confusing, but throwing interspecies demarcation into the mix made everything even weirder. Actually, Dobby made things plenty weird enough by himself, but to have the whole institution of Hogwarts being founded through dumb luck by creatures that _didn't plan_ … it was mind boggling. Doubly so that the elves had somehow created something that had lasted a thousand years, leaving pretty much everything that wizards had done in the dust.

In the back of Harry's mind it answered questions about why some of his homework seemed like pointless busywork. The machine they called Hogwarts was a hamster wheel designed to keep elves busy. The machine also just happened to keep students busy, and the busywork the students did just happened to prepare witches and wizards for running in the hamster wheel of the Ministry of Magic ...

This revelation did not help Harry's brain at all. A plan within a plan. A wheel within a wheel.

No wonder the elves got shitted off with Hermione and her "knitting plot" to free the elves! It was their frigging school in the first place. The wizards were guests in the elves' school, and all the elves asked in return was to cook the meals and weed the frigging garden.

"So the thing that elves want is plenty of work, and they get this from a wizard having a plan?" asked Harry. When in doubt, just repeat the last thing that you understood, but phrase it as a question. This was a strategy that had always served him well when dealing with the wizarding world in general, and elves in particular.

Dobby again nodded so vigorously that Harry worried that his entire head would come off, not just more of his hats. "Does Great Harry Potter sir have a _plan_?" asked Dobby with a slightly unhinged gleam in his eye.

"I've been working on a plan for the last week." said Harry.

"A seven day plan!" cried Dobby, "Harry Potter sir is a truly great wizard to imagine such plans!"

"Actually, Dobby my friend, I call it the 'Eight Day Plan', that's the name of my plan that generates the Plan."

Dobby latched onto Harry's leg and started humping. "A plan to make plans! Harry Potter sir is truly the Greatest Wizard Ever!" The elf humped some more. "Work work work." Dobby muttered.

"Easy there Dobby, I don't know how much work there will be for you. I hadn't known about the friendship magic with the elves when I made the plan. I just thought it would be a lot of work for me," said Harry.

"How much work in this plan?" asked Dobby, still attached to Harry's leg.

"Lots of work, Dobby. Ten years or more," said Harry. "Maybe enough for the rest of my life. I plan to be the best wizard I can be. I'm pretty sure that will probably take a while, and I'm not expecting it to be easy either."

"Does Harry Potter sir have Accoutrements?" asked Dobby excitedly, after finally unlatching from Harry's leg.

"I'm sorry Dobby, I don't know what accoutrements are," said Harry.

"Ritual bits of Elf-Bonding!" said Dobby, "You is needing Seed Capital and Secret Competitive Advantage. If you is making Family Business you is _also_ needing one Witch, one Girl-Elf, one Business Plan and two Sacks. But you is not needing them _now_! Seedy and Secret is enough for Dobby-bonding! I gives you Seedy and you gives me Secret, we is saying Words of Power, and bonding is done!"

"Hang on Dobby," said Harry, and the elf re-attached himself to Harry's leg. The young wizard sighed. "I wasn't thinking of bonding an elf. Also what do you do with the girl-elf and the sacks?"

Dobby unlatched from Harry's leg once again. "What does wizard do with witch?" Dobby asked innocently, pointing at the bed. "Making Family Business also making family is."

Hedwig tapped on Harry's bedroom window.

Day Nine was turning out to be completely _insane_.

"Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life," muttered Harry to himself.

* * *

A/N: My point is that Harry isn't the Heir of the Founders of Hogwarts. And despite this being a Gary-Stu, I'm not giving the protagonist a page full of titles …

I'm hoping to recast the "elves are slaves" debate away from a racial paradigm. I had a big long rant about my opinions on this, but nobody wants to be lectured to in Author's Notes, so I'll skip it.

That said, I really do believe that the Weasleys' treatment of their "ancient owl Errol" is animal cruelty. So if you were wondering about the bashing I mentioned in my first author's note, it's the Weasleys. I fully intend to misrepresent the Weasleys in the worst possible light. After all, I'm writing a fix fic that holds Sirius up as a role model for Harry after literally _everyone else_ dropped the ball in canon.

On a lighter note:

Q: What do you call a grave robber with NEWTs?

A: A Curse Breaker.


End file.
